


further on ahead, there, a little empty space

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Coulson thinks Skye is the best thing since sliced bread, Episode Tag, F/M, POV Alternating, Post-Season/Series 01 Finale, Unresolved Romantic Tension, a quiet moment, post episode, trying to deal with my disappointment at the finale through fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-25 03:06:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1628294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A day after their new life starts Coulson and Skye find a quiet moment to talk.</p><p>(Season 1 finale spoilers)</p>
            </blockquote>





	further on ahead, there, a little empty space

**Author's Note:**

> Title from a poem by Amrita Pritam.

He's deep in work, concentrated, which is good, it's good for him now. They've only been here for a day and a half but somehow it feels a lot longer. And he's tired, like he hasn't slept in ages. So doing methodical, methodically gruelling work is almost refreshing right now. Crates of weapons become numbers in his handwriting, become flexing his muscles without having to be put in danger first. But he is a bit too concentrated and he sort of misses the sound of steps coming his way; by the time Skye reaches his side Coulson finds himself startled by her arrival.

"Sorry," she says. She's startled him, and she feels bad for finding it kind of funny, the way he jumps when he sees her. She's interrupted him in... some kind of work, sleeves rolled up and holding a clipboard, a good frown of concentration on his face.

"Took me a bit to find this room," she tells him, studying the ceiling. In a kind of almost bitter voice: "Can't seem to get my bearings just yet."

"You don't like big changes?" he asks, more because he is not really liking this one, for some reason. He knows it's too soon, he should give himself more time and space.

"No, I do," she says. Then softer: "I have to, usually. But I kind of miss living in a plane."

"Well, we still have the Bus."

"Yes! That's good news."

"Yeah."

"Speaking of which," she says, stepping closer and pressing the tips of her fingers aganist one of the crates distractedly. "I spoke to Ace just now. He's living with his aunt again. Safe and sound."

"That is good news," Coulson says. 

"I'll keep in touch with them," she tells him, that little fierce light in her eyes that's always there when she decides something and no power could ever hope to stop her. "I was the one who brought Mike to SHIELD, I need to do right by him. It's my responsibility."

Coulson just nods and Skye feels grateful that he doesn't try to convince her she hasn't played some role in Mike Peterson's nightmare. She guesses that's what it means to be in the center of it all like she always wanted – eventually it catches up with you, Skye understands it now, thinks back on Ward's words when he once said something about her typing alone in her van, in safety.

He notices the little grimace her face does and how she tries to hide it from him. "We'll see Mike again, don't worry."

"No I know," she replies, not wanting to go there, not now. She can't think about Mike's face yet, what they did to him, the lonely path he's taken. She looks around, trying to change the subject. "So. This is the armory? A bit spare."

She's right, it is spare. Everything in this place is spare. It's just an skeleton, it's just a very apt (too apt) metaphor, one he'd enjoy if the place didn't feel so damn cold. Unlike their plane. Unlike their life these past months.

"We haven't the biggest budget right now," he comments. He pushes one crate to the side, lifts the next one on to the table.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" Skye asks.

"Inventory, stock," he replies, tapping his fingers on the clipboard.

"Inventory? I'd imagine Agent Koenig," she still hesitates on the name, pushing down memories of blood, "I'd imagine he'd have it all in order and up to date."

"He does. But since we are taking over this place it doesn't hurt to check everything oneself, it's a good habit," he says, wondering if Skye thinks he's too pedestrian. "And I like it."

"You _like_ doing inventory? Wow. At this point I'm not even surprised by this revelation."

He rolls his eyes. "Okay."

She moves closer, waltzing into his personal space just a bit, looking him up and down with amusement and –yes, Coulson notices this, can't not notice this– profound fondness.

"A bit of a lowly job for our shining new _director_ though," she says cheerfully. She notices him making a face. It's very subtle, like all of Coulson's faces really, but there's no way she's missing it. "Did I just hit a nerve or something? Sorry."

There are things he has to hide, at least right now, for all this to work out, but maybe this is not one of them. Because maybe Skye is the one person –there's still something of the Rising Tide activist in her, and that is not a bad thing, not around him anyway– who will understand what he means, even if he himself is not sure.

"I don't know, Skye. I keep thinking about how SHIELD got started, the first time. Empty rooms and righteous people. Who's to say I'm not going to make the same mistakes they did? The same mistakes _Nick Fury_ made?"

She straightens her posture, looking at him intently.

"No one. No one is to say you won't mess it up. But this?" she gestures around them. "It doesn't have to be like the old SHIELD. It doesn't have to be like SHIELD at all. We are a team and we get to define what this is, not Fury, and not the past. I mean, it's too late to give it back, right? And you can't refuse to move forward just because you're afraid. And – look at me, I just did a speech."

"Yes," Coulson says, suddenly reminded of another instance in which Skye's words cut through his juvenile doubts and shook him into action. "We get to define it."

He nods, looking into her eyes. There's some weight there. There's something familiar in their exchange, she thinks. They've done this before. They've been here before. It's good, Coulson looks good like that, like he's made some sort of important decision and she has helped somehow. First time seeing him like this under this roof, though, and she thinks she might get used to this place just yet. She decides to tease him. "One question: Do I have to call you _Director_ now? Because I'm not sure I–"

"I don't think it's a _requirement_."

Skye raises an eyebrow at him, smirking, fake-reverential. "It's kind of impressive, though. Director A.C."

She frowns.

"That doesn't really work," Coulson points out. "Because –"

"No I know because it would mean _Director_ –"

"– _Agent_."

She chuckles. He sort of does, too. Not like her but well, for Coulson, it is something.

" _D.C._ then," she offers. They look at each other. "No, that's ridiculous. That's horrible. I'm sorry, Director. I will always think of you as _A.C._ "

She has missed saying that.

He has missed hearing it.

There is a beat, a silence falling between them that, although not completely uncomfortable, is not the good kind either. Skye feels fidgety about it, forces herself to keep still.

He goes back to staring at his clipboard, not because he considers their conversation finished or wants her to go away. He opens the next box; more handguns. Real guns with real bullets. He sighs. They have a lot to do. He doesn't even know how to commission more ICERs, if that is even possible. Maybe they'll just have to assemble them themselves, one by one, with their hands. He's very purposedly not thinking about Fitz, because he can't yet. He'll have to, and soon, but not right this moment. He hasn't forgotten about Skye and when he looks up he finds her staring at him with a strange, unreadable expression on her face.

"We are going to be quite busy in the forseeable future, aren't we?" she asks him.

Coulson looks around. "Pretty much."

She shoves her hands in her pockets.

"You think when things calm down a bit, whenever you want, we could grab something to drink, _or a coffee_ , just hit pause and talk about some stuff?"

Her tone is clipped and curiously unSkye and Coulson wonders if that is on purpose. What she's asking also sounds unlike her somehow, too calculated, almost a loaded question.

He seems to be thinking about it, his eyebrows only slightly brought together, like there's a part of her question he doesn't understand completely, but also like he understands enough to consider it. Skye half hopes he really doesn't understand completely, because that's part of her request, the chance to make him _understand_. And it shouldn't be calculated but they haven't had a chance to be alone in days, with everything that's happened – except for now, of course, but they are in the armory and they could be called to a mission any moment now so it's not the best place to _start_.

"Stuff," he repeats. "Your stuff?"

"For example. I've got stuff I haven't been – and you look like you do, too, have stuff you are not talking about." He shifts uncomfortably. "No, that's okay. And also we could talk about our stuff."

" _Our stuff_?"

"Yeah," she feels a bit foolish for bringing it up, realizing how non-neutral it sounds when he says it back. She had meant it to sound neutral at least to him. She doesn't even know what it means. Things have been really weird the last couple of days; Coulson has been acting strangely and she has too. He's been keeping secrets and she has too. And she has been thinking about that first night on the motel, when they became homeless, after she escaped from Ward, has been thinking about it a lot, a bit too much, if she is being honest. It wasn't even that long ago, she can count it in days, but it _feels_ like long ago. She knows how she should do this, how to deflect it. She does this a lot. "Or is the new Director of SHIELD too high and mighty to sit down with a mere commoner like me?"

It's not like he doesn't want to accept, to sit down and talk about "stuff" with Skye. All in all if given a choice Coulson would want nothing more, he believes it would do him more good than harm. But he suspects he might not have a choice. He might not have a choice on a lot of things. But there it is, that little fierce light in her eyes that almost makes Coulson want to say "no" because to a man like him she is a scary thing to happen. In the grand scheme of things, though, between his desire to overlook how he feels about their current situation and the limitations of his ability to say "no" to Skye he knows which one will win out. He smiles at her. He's learned this technique from her, mostly.

"I will talk to my secretary, see if we can find you a spot on the schedule."

Skye laughs. "I see you are growing into the role quite nicely. Fine, I'll leave you to enjoy your inventory. We'll talk. Okay?"

He nods. It's not much, but he's given her enough. She can give him some time and space in return.

Coulson watches her smile shyly and leave; he doesn't wish he could take his promise back, but he admits it terrifies him a bit. Everything seems to be changing, shifting, even himself; he doesn't know why or how but he can feel he's different now, or on the way to become different. Avoiding whatever Skye has to say would be the logical thing to do in this situation. He wants to and doesn't want to at the same time and he knows which one of the two impulses will win out in the end.

She leaves, hands in her pockets, intentions mostly still concealed until better times.

He draws a short, broken breath, the moment after she's already out of earshot. "Yes, we'll talk."


End file.
